


His Too-Familiar Care

by toriangeli



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 11:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toriangeli/pseuds/toriangeli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for the kink meme.  Thorin and his nephews have survived the Battle of Five Armies, and the King Under the Mountain is furious with the Elvenking for not letting him know right away that he is alive.  If Thranduil will send no word, Thorin will march to Thranduil's camp himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Too-Familiar Care

**Author's Note:**

> _Original Prompt: Thorin and Thranduil broke up long ago, after the Smaug incident. Despite sexual tension between them during Thorin's imprisonment in Mirkwood, they don't reconnect._
> 
> _However, the BOTFA is ugly and, after they win (and Thorin and preferably Fili and Kili, too, survive) they have to go looking for one another. Not because they are worried about each other, they tell themselves, they just are curious to know whether or not the other has survived. When the two see each other, they are so relieved that they decide to go into Thranduil's tent to celebrate their victory. One thing leads to another and, when they're still covered in sweat and grime, they end up making love._
> 
> _Bonus if Fili and Kili or maybe Dwalin get worried and start looking for their Uncle._

_My care is like the shadow in the sun_  
Follows me flying, flies where I pursue it  
Stands and lies by me, doth what I have done  
His too-familiar care doth make me rue it 

_-Elizabeth I_

 

No word had come from the Elvenking's camp.

Messengers had brought news from Bard and Dain. Numbers lost, the state of their lord and captain, terms of peace as easy as falling over, but the elves had denied entry into their camp. Thorin had half a mind to march to the camp himself and tear through until he could see Thranduil alive and well with his own eyes.

That was the half that won out.

How _dare_ he? Did he think simply because their trysts had been so long ago that he had no right to know if his former lover survived? It was a matter of pride, not concern. As if he would be concerned for Thranduil of all folk. The elves would surely grant entry to the King Under the Mountain or else suffer consequences on an international level. Thorin had been insulted enough.

He was right. The elven guard snapped to attention when they recognized him and quickly ushered him to Thranduil's tent. Their assurances that all was well fell on deaf ears, for Thorin had the right to see it for himself. The battle had only just been won, and there was still more adrenaline in his veins than blood. So when he tore the tent flap aside with enough force to shake the entire tent, Thranduil started and whipped round to see him.

Thorin froze in the entryway. Thranduil glowed with the sheen of sweat, a smudge of dirt was on his chin unheeded, his hip-length fall of golden hair twisted into a long braid that hung over his shoulder. His armor lay over a hanging rope chair in a corner, his belt on top of it. He was dressed now only in a tunic that went to his calves, leggings, and, Thorin knew without seeing, a type of underwear that wrapped around his hipbones and tucked into itself. Thorin had always liked the fact that the wood-elves often preferred leggings to trousers because of that particular garment. One little maneuver and...

In two steps, Thranduil was less than a foot from Thorin and glowering down at him.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Thorin saw his hands shaking. The adrenaline was still strong in his system, too. He wanted to take those tapered fingertips into his mouth.

“He insisted, my lord,” one of the guards said nervously.

There was a long pause. Thranduil did not relax, but he gave a slight nod. “Leave us.”

The tent flap closed. The Elvenking stepped closer. Thorin stared at the golden braid as it swung with the movement.

“What do you want, Thorin?” Thranduil asked haughtily.

It was that tone that always drove Thorin mad with the desire to take the elf down a peg or three. That tone and the intense gold of the hair so very close, close enough to touch before the Elvenking could react, closer than the glowing face he wanted to kiss and fuck. Thick fingers seized that braid and _pulled_ hand over hand.

There was only a slight gasp. Thranduil hadn't been entirely taken by surprise. He bent low and Thorin claimed that perfect mouth as it opened to him, breathing in the sighs he drew from the Elvenking's trembling lips. Then he was marching him backward, toward the furs and blankets that made up the elf's bed. Thorin's fingers shook as he tore the braid from Thranduil's hair, releasing the precious tresses to spill everywhere, around them both, a curtain of gold that melted into a halo as they both tumbled to the blankets below.

Bright eyes looked up at him from within that halo spread out on the blankets. Lying down, their height difference hardly mattered. Thranduil's mouth opened for another kiss, but Thorin found his own mouth drawn to the pointed ears. His lips had barely touched one when he heard Thranduil gasp and arch beneath him eagerly. Thorin knew Thranduil never told anyone else about this, how very sensitive his ears were and how he loved it when Thorin and Thorin only did this. Long fingers tangled themselves in the dwarf's black-and-silver locks, and he remembered.

_And when I am old and grey, Elvenking? Will you still think me beautiful?_

_All the more, my lord, for silver is the rarest and most precious of hair among elves. We prefer white metal to yellow, and the moon and stars to the sun. Should you be surprised?_

He scraped the buds of his tongue roughly against the tip of that ear and Thranduil shuddered and gave a whimper. Eager, too eager, his hand reached between the elf's legs and tugged at that garment between his leggings, untucking it and casting it aside. But his hand went first up Thranduil's tunic, smoothing over silken skin and pinching a nipple as he laved the point of his ear and breathed the scent of his hair. The elf began to writhe, and as he tossed his head back, Thorin moved his lips to his pale throat.

“Is this why you came?” Thranduil gasped, his breath tickling Thorin's ear. “To have me on my own sheets without a word?”

Thorin sucked hard at the elf's throat before pulling away and nipping again at his ear. “I will have you,” he growled softly, “for it is my intent _now_. And when I am done with you you will have learned your lesson well and good.”

“My lesson?” The elf's tone had an edge of playfulness to it. “What lesson are you teaching me, O King Under the Mountain?”

That title was much more arousing than the one Thranduil had used in the past. He released the Elvenking's nipple and moved his hand down to his length instead, stroking it a little harder each time until the Elvenking gasped.

“Not to leave me waiting, O Elvenking.”

Thranduil's mouth opened, a flush appearing in his face. Thorin had to kiss those open lips again, sliding his tongue inside, feeling the Elvenking's heart thudding against his chest and knowing _he_ was the one inspiring such excitement and desire. Thranduil moaned into his mouth and Thorin pressed him harder, sinking his teeth hard into a plush lip and running his tongue over to soothe it. He tasted blood.

Thick, shaking fingers released the Elvenking's cock and slid between the crease of his buttocks, pressing dry against his entrance. Thorin felt the elf struggle briefly beneath him—not against him—and heard the clink of tin against something wooden. A second later, Thranduil's fingers tangled with his own, carrying with them a thick salve Thorin knew was used for chapped skin. Long fingers coated his blunt ones in the salve as the first one pressed inside. Thranduil gasped and writhed at the intrusion, but did not stop working. A second finger was coated just as it slipped in to join the first. Each breath Thranduil took was pitched, his eyes glazed, his pupils wide and dark with arousal.

“Your fingers...are no slimmer than I remember,” the elf panted, his heels kicking slowly against the covers as he squirmed.

“And you are no tighter,” Thorin noted, sliding down the elf's body and peering beneath his tunic. Oh, but the sight of him penetrated by his fingers was a glory! “Have you been taking yourself with your own fingers in my absence?”

A rough chuckle. “Perhaps. Would you like me to show you?”

Without waiting for an answer, one of those slender fingers dipped inside the Elvenking's entrance with Thorin's. The dwarf's jaw dropped at the sight and the feel of it, of feeling Thranduil from the inside as he fingered himself, of the sight of the elf stretched around both their digits. He could not resist ducking forward and tracing his tongue around it, tasting the salt of them both mingled together. On either side of his head Thranduil's thighs trembled, and the elf's cry had Thorin pulling all three fingers away and grappling with his own belt. Thranduil was a sight—hair in disarray around him, plastered to his flushed, sweating face and neck, making the gold strands look paler by comparison. Thorin cast his belt aside and opened his trousers, fingers slicking his cock as he pulled it out and knelt between Thranduil's legs.

He wasted no time. Thranduil groaned low in his throat. His shaking legs spread wider as Thorin pressed further inside, his mouth dropping open to gasp in the cool air as Thorin began to piston his hips. Oh, he was beautiful like this, his clothes covering him so that even if someone came in, only Thorin would know the slick heat beneath the long tunic. Of course anyone within a dozen yards of the tent would know by now what was happening, with the sounds Thorin found himself making as Thranduil writhed beneath him, grimacing in pleasure. Long fingers tangled in his rippling hair, legs wrapped around him, and each thrust pushed Thranduil further up the bed. The elf released the black and silver hair and grasped desperately at the covers to keep from being fucked off the bed, but Thorin did not waver in his strength. He only took hold of those slender wrists where they gripped the blankets and pinned them hard. Over and over that lithe body was speared on his length till Thranduil shook and sobbed and clawed at the blankets and arched into him and gulped the air like a drowning man.

He had _missed_ this. Missed it like air, didn't even know it was gone until he had to breathe. Missed seeing the Elvenking spread out and thrashing beneath him, missed falling asleep in the circle of a pair of long arms, missed waking up to that seldom-seen smile. Missed mornings of surprise tickle fights and lazy breakfasts, missed evenings spent talking for hours beneath the stars. He wanted it back, and he held on to the precious person underneath him as if determined never to be fool enough to let him go again, the rarest gold a dwarf had ever treasured.

When the elf came, it was with a stifled cry and a snap of his head backwards, eyes squeezing shut, breath stopped, even the points of his ears flushed red in the chill air of early winter. Thorin fucked him mercilessly through his orgasm, till the elf went limp beneath him, till the slippery heat became far too much to bear and he came himself, choking on a stifled roar, right hand gripping the Elvenking's wrist hard enough to bruise as he punched his knuckles into the sheets again and again.

His shaking arms couldn't hold his weight anymore. He collapsed on the hard, lithe body and released the wrists he was holding. Immediately long fingers buried in his hair and gently scratched his scalp, coaxing him through the tiny aftershocks of his orgasm. Thorin lay there, drained, still inside the Elvenking, until he felt his breathing return to normal. Then he slipped out and crawled forward, lying down beside Thranduil and curling against him as he used to. The elf's lips were swollen, his eyes glazed, the flush on his skin gradually fading, but he was gazing at Thorin as if his entire world had come down to him, as if the rough adrenaline-fueled tumble had really been the culmination of years of denied passion.

As if he loved him.

Thorin tangled his fingers in those precious golden tresses. Such beautiful hair, such pure gold was already reawakening a madness in him, and he wanted to possess every strand. Thranduil watched with an amused smile as Thorin ran his fingers from roots to ends, combing through the shimmering silk, holding it up to catch the light till it glittered like Erebor's hidden treasure halls. Then, looping the locks around his fingers, he brought him forward for a kiss.

“Told you he was here!” chirped Kili's voice as the tent flap was kicked open casually. “Oy, Balin! We found--”

He stopped and stared, making Fili bump into him from behind.

Thorin snarled and grabbed one of the pillows, flinging it with precise aim at the face of his youngest nephew as he tried desperately to tuck himself back in. “GET OUT!”

Kili, the brilliant lad, simply caught the pillow and kept staring as if his world had shattered. Fili was muttering something to him and tugging on his arm, but it was Balin's intervention that finally got the lad thawed enough to be led away. Balin was the last to leave and cast a faintly amused and proud glance back at his cousin just before the tent flap closed.

Thorin groaned and buried his face in Thranduil's hair, but Thranduil was laughing softly.

“Perhaps next time we shall tie it closed from the inside, if you believe it will keep them out.”

Thorin simply wound his arms around his lover and drew him close, not even questioning what he said about _next time_.

 

_No means have I to rid him from my breast  
Till by the end of things it be suppressed_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to evocates for beta-ing!


End file.
